


Translucent and Bare

by Renabe



Category: RWBY
Genre: Clover kinda is too, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Qrow is a brat, like hella sauce, sauce, some tender sweetness too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25049173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renabe/pseuds/Renabe
Summary: "Ah, c'mon, Cloves. Don't you like it when I pick you up like this," Qrow coos, giving Clover's butt a squeeze.The brunette inhales sharply, biting his lower lip at the sensation, and his fingers suddenly find themselves tangled in soft, feathery hair. He tugs slowly, purposefully, on those dark locks, leans in close to whisper in a husky tone, "That is not the point, and you know it."What Qrowknowsis that he's winning, so he decides to push his luck and turn up the charm. He smiles sweetly at Clover, eyes lowering just a bit as he says, "Seeing you like this is always the point."
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 82





	Translucent and Bare

**Author's Note:**

> This is a saucy little fic to go along with some saucy art I drew. Links below:
> 
> https://renabe4life.tumblr.com/post/622261401728286720/clovers-turn-for-a-new-outfit-mostly-just-added
> 
> https://renabe4life.tumblr.com/post/621754040046567424/i-decided-to-design-an-outfit-for-qrow-then-he

Clover smooths down his vest, checking that the side straps are in place before turning around to ask Qrow if he is ready. The question dies on his tongue when he is greeted with the sight of tight black jeans, ripped to show off a sinful amount of skin on thighs. The red and black knee-high boots he should have expected, but the combination short circuits his brain, and he has yet to process that Qrow has not even put on a shirt. He is too busy imagining tucking his fingers under the ripped fabric, squeezing the skin beneath as he sucks a filthy kiss into Qrow’s neck and draws out an indecent moan.

“Hey, Cloves? You in there,” Qrow asks with a raised eyebrow, smug. And he knows what he’s doing, resting his hip against the dresser just so, chin tilted cheekily toward Clover as he awaits a reply.

A huff of air, something between laughter and frustration, escapes Clover and he shakes his head. He thumbs over the ring on his left hand, thinking amusedly how after all this time Qrow still takes his breath away so effortlessly. He can’t help but notice Qrow fiddling with his ring in return. Clover’s lips quirk upward into that lopsided grin, and he reaches out a hand to adjust the cross necklace that rests at the hollow of Qrow’s throat.

“Never a fair game with you,” he says, releasing the necklace to press the pads of his fingers against a prominent collarbone, thumb tracing circles just beneath. “But I’m ready to go when you are, handsome.”

Qrow hums contentedly, enjoying the touch for a few moments before stepping away to fetch his top from the closet. As he slides the fabric off the hanger, a whistle from his counterpart catches his attention. With a fond roll of his eyes, he moves a hand to his lower back, sticks out a leg, and stretches languidly.

"You know, you're distracting enough without the extra show." And the way those pants hug his hips and flaunt his assets, _well_. "Your butt looks really good in those."

Alluring red orbs shoot him a fiery look that burns with the confidence to say _exactly_ without using any such word. The matching smile turns wicked as an idea strikes Qrow, and his eyes reflect a mischievous glint as he tosses the shirt onto the bed.

He steps slowly toward Clover, demanding his full attention as he leans into his space, pressing their chests together, gazing into alarmed green that darkens to want. His hands take hold of a familiar waist, slide down to brush against the bare skin between vest and jeans before trailing around to his back, resting there.

Clover waits, anticipation alight in his eyes as he holds his breath. What is his little bird going to do next, he thinks. His hands twitch at his sides, wanting to touch, wanting to caress, and yet he waits.

Qrow moves in for a kiss, a diversion. Clover accepts, leaning into the contact to press firmly against that mouth and greedily nip at his lower lip. He figures he's waited long enough and raises his hands to cup Qrow's face.

The hands on his back slide downward, halting Clover's movement with a firm and deliberate grasp on his ass as Qrow fondles him gleefully. A gasp pushes its way past Clover's lips, and he breaks the kiss to give a warning, but he knows he's doomed as Qrow leans back and lifts.

"Qrow!" he laughs despite himself as he is hoisted into the air. They are supposed to be going out, and he knows where this act of affection is heading. He _knows_ , and so he tries his damnedest to protest, because ever since his brat of a husband found out just what it _does_ to him, he chooses the most inopportune times to do it.

"Ah, c'mon, Cloves. Don't you like it when I pick you up like this," Qrow coos, giving Clover's butt a squeeze.

The brunet inhales sharply, biting his lower lip at the sensation, and his fingers suddenly find themselves tangled in soft, feathery hair. He tugs slowly, purposefully, on those dark locks, leans in close to whisper in a husky tone, "That is not the point, and you know it."

What Qrow _knows_ is that he's winning, so he decides to push his luck and turn up the charm. He smiles sweetly at Clover, eyes lowering just a bit as he says, "Seeing you like this is always the point."

And Clover silences him with a needy kiss, insistent and hungry. Wraps his legs tightly around teasing hips and pulls harder on dusty hair. It's rushed and rude, and he couldn't care less as he licks his way past parted lips that grin against his own. Those taunting lips that kiss back just as mercilessly, leaving no space for any doubt this was Qrow's goal all along. Clover can't say he minds.

Until he is deposited on top of the dresser, and long fingers drag agonizingly slowly down his thighs before leaving him altogether. _That_ he minds. Tantalizing lips pull away, and he chases them only to meet a chastising index finger. He growls and kisses that instead, nibbles delicately on the digit in defiance.

And Qrow’s smirk drops as he watches the act, a shiver running through him as teeth pinch his skin. Vermilion flicks up to teal, and the heat found there has Qrow absently licking his lips and wanting desperately to give in and forget about everything else. He wants to, but he won’t, he tells himself. Even as Clover pulls a hand from his hair to take hold of his wrist, never breaking eye contact as lips trail from finger to finger, pressing firmly against each one, giving each a nip of teeth before moving on to the next. Even as he pays special attention to his ring finger, kissing the gold band with all the reverence in the world, before planting slow pecks down his palm. Even as he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse of his wrist, closing into a tender bite he knows will have Qrow suppressing a pleasant little whine. He doesn’t quite hide it completely, and Clover smiles against that pulse point, feeling satisfied with his efforts.

And that just won’t do. But Qrow still has an ace up his sleeve, so to speak. "You gonna let me put on my shirt, or am I going out half naked?"

"Mm, tempting," Clover muses, giving one last kiss to fair skin before relenting, "but I wouldn't want you to be cold." He sets his hands on the wooden surface beneath him as he again watches Qrow go.

Back to Clover while he collects the discarded article from the mattress, Qrow smiles to himself at the delicate fabric that slides over his arms. Clover is entranced, leans forward on his perch to watch the movement of shoulder blades and muscle as Qrow slips the shirt over his head and pulls it down to cover his body.

Although, _cover_ is a strong word for a top with no sleeves, so thin and translucent, teasing the lithe body beneath. And while he is _intimately_ familiar with that body, something about the flow of the top, the way it catches the light and shows off just enough, has Clover's grip on the edge of the dresser tightening, knuckles white with the force used to anchor himself in place.

Qrow stretches his arms upward and pauses, lowers them slowly, one farther than the other to tug a shoulder free of fabric. He turns his head toward his bare shoulder, just enough to look back at Clover in a sultry gesture, daring him to make a move.

Clover's vest sails past his face and onto the bed, the sudden motion startling Qrow before firm hands pull him against a broad chest and a warm face presses firmly into his neck. "You are _so_ unfair," Clover groans into his skin, fingers bunching smooth fabric at Qrow's stomach.

A giddy laugh spills from Qrow, and he just can't _help_ it, shoulders shaking with mirth at such an enthusiastic reaction to his little taunt. He feels the pouty 'hmph' that's exhaled against his neck, and decides to take pity on the poor man. He spins in Clover's hold, grabs his face and kisses him hard. Strong arms adjust with the movement, one hand sliding under that shirt to trail up his spine, the other finding purchase on a thigh to hike up his leg and pull him closer still.

Qrow pushes until they bump into the dresser, then pushes again to lean heavily against Clover, eliciting a gratifying moan as fingers grip his leg more tightly. In response he breathes a lewd murmur into Clover’s mouth as his arms glide over exposed skin in search of more contact. A gentle scrape of nails across a shoulder blade, fingers buried in chestnut strands hardly long enough to pull on stir a frustrated whimper from his throat. An amused rumble escapes Clover, recognising the reason for that sound, and Qrow protests by tugging a lower lip between his teeth. He releases it and moves on to pressing quick kisses along a smooth jaw, nudging Clover’s head to the side as he goes. He slows as he reaches the juncture to his neck, biting down just enough to make Clover squirm.

“Ah, Qrow-!” he whines, the sound forcing its way out before he can say with a laugh, “I guess we’re staying in?” There’s no disappointment to be found in his tone, only want and urgency.

And Qrow takes his time responding, dragging his tongue over the fresh red mark he’s made, enjoying the twitch of fingers and hitch of breath it earns him. “Guess so,” he mumbles as his lips close around an earlobe, tugging on it playfully.

“Then quit teasing and take me to bed already.”

Leaning back to show off his satisfied smirk, Qrow is met with a look that mirrors his own. They share a laugh, bumping foreheads briefly, nuzzling noses. And then Clover finds himself lifted off his feet once more, and as his back hits the soft sheets he tugs Qrow down with him. They kick off their boots, caring not about forgotten plans as they meld together. Hot breaths mingling, limbs entangling in a familiar dance that carries well into the night, until they rest against one another tired and sated.


End file.
